Final Entry: Harvey Mansion Investigation
by yorickjones
Summary: A parapsychologist investigates the haunted history of a dilapidated mansion and its connection to a sad little boy named Casper.


**Final Entry: Harvey Mansion Investigation**

**prepared by Dr. Sal Band, the American Society for Psychical Research**

Harvey, Illinois - September 13, 1988 - 4:45 AM. Our last night of a heretofore fruitless investigation of the house at 18 Mulgrave Street in Harvey, Illinois. Perhaps "fruitless" is a bit of an over­statement, we have detected the familiar drastic fluctuations in the localized mag­netic field and Dr. Pollet is very pleased with the readings on his thermic sensors. This place is another rambling mass of wood (and much limestone, interestingly enough - I refer you to Weldon's classic paper "Porous Stone and the Question of Vibratory Imprinting") that has its share of mysterious, roving cold spots. Been there, done that and these results are hardly unique enough to take back to our colleagues at the ASPR. My frustra­tions are plain as this case looked so promising in the beginning. But, then, they all do.

The history of the disturbances here goes back three decades (an im­portant clue as to possible origination) and, within the parapsy­chological community, the paperwork on it is extensive, but, for those who need a capsule, here goes: since the late Forties this Gothic-style mansion has changed hands fifteen times (at dramatically slashed prices for such a huge home) before finally being abandoned by the realtors and the town at large. Standing empty and falling into disre­pair since 1978, the house is slated for demolition by the end of the year.

What makes this site so appetizing for researchers such as we is the sheer range and frequency of phenomena contained within the twenty-three rooms here. Various occupants have experienced the aforementioned cold spots, vile smells, sounds (footsteps, multiple voices in conversation, horrifying shrieks, even childish laughter), visual encounters with vaguely man-shaped, luminescent energy forms, and even a spectrum of physical-object manipulation on a par with the most extreme poltergeist cases. Over thirty years of continu­ous and well-documented instances of flying furniture and bucking beds to put the Harvey mansion firmly in the company of the "Surrency Terror," the "Bell Witch," and the "Enfield Poltergeist." As you can see, a veritable smorgasbord of targetable effects. Several of the parade of owners were so psy­chologically scarred by their experi­ences here that they moved away from the house in the middle of the night, leaving not only the mansion, but the town of Harvey as well.

They were scared off. (Though, in a thoughtful footnote, those occu­pants with small children did report that their kids were reluctant to leave, having never felt frightened of the occurrences. Many actually cried at the thought of leaving "him" behind. When asked who they were referring to, the children could only say that they would miss their "friend" – the one who played games with them, brought them cookies and candy and made them laugh. More on this below.)

In the summer of 1959, during a particularly aggressive spate of haunting, the owner at the time, Mr. Wallace Floyd, hired the contro­versial "celebrity psychic" Peter Hurkos who, it must be stated, was only three years in the U.S. at the time and not yet widely known out­side of research circles. Brought to Harvey by Dr. Adrija Puharich, who had just spent two years studying Hurkos's abilities, the psychic was allowed to stay in the mansion with Floyd and his family for two weeks. Dr. Puharich stayed as well to monitor Hurkos's impressions and act as control (Hurkos had had no time or resource to learn of the mansion or its history). Hurkos requested to leave after only five days. His very first intui­tion was of a very young, innocent presence - someone who, in Hurkos's own words, "died pure." But this entity was soon eclipsed by others - three, according to Hurkos - who played havoc on the visiting psychic's sensitive perceptions. He de­scribed three souls of "vile hatred and rotten spite" that made it very clear to Hurkos that neither he, nor any other living person, was welcome in "their" house.

We have only Hurkos's word to go on here as the outward mani­fes­tations of this haunting were markedly non-existent during Dr. Puharich and Peter Hurkos's stay with the Floyds. Such "science shy" entities are not at all uncommon and, if our experiences here (i.e., virtually none) are any indication, the ghosts can still sniff out a parapsychologist from a mile away. Of course, the moment the pair left the mansion, the disturbances started back up full force - as if punishing the Floyds for having the audacity to bring in investigators. The Floyds moved out by the beginning of August that same year. Hurkos, who was known primarily as a psychometric "detective" who used pieces of clothing from murdered or missing persons to intuit the details of their demise or disappearance, never attempted another contact with dis­embodied consciousnesses.

But the damage was done. With Hurkos connected to the story of the strange goings on at 18 Mulgrave Street, the media soon became aware of this colorfully spooked haunted house. Not a Halloween has gone by that some local news station hasn't sent some reporter into the mansion to do a four-minute bit on "the ghosts of Harvey mansion." And each time, those same presences are notoriously, un­characteristically demure. With one exception: Halloween night, 1972, as local TV reporter Carl Trager was finishing up his smirky segment in the main hall of the mansion there appeared a filmy blur behind his right shoulder for exactly 2.8 seconds. A milky wisp that blinks into view and, just as quickly, blinks right back out. Because of the vaguely discernable appendage bending out from the main body of the shape - which does, indeed, look like a waving hand - this notorious strip of videotape has been dubbed the "Hi Mom Tape." Detailed analysis of the magnetic tape in question has revealed no technical trickery and the placement of the form very clearly behind Trager has eliminated any serious suspicion of tape flaw. Evidence of this kind is a dream; frustrating, and ultimately nothing more than an unexplainable curiosity; but a dream nonetheless.

As for the possible source of these disturbances even the most cursory examination of the house's history reveals the likely iden­tities (with all due respect to Mssrs. Gauld and Cornell) of the presences in­volved.

In 1840, Gordon Harvey, the millionaire son of town patriarch and industrialist Vance Harvey, built a fine mansion for his extended family. It took years to complete and was a showcase indeed. It was the town's pride - until 1929 when Gordon's grandson Caldwell Harvey lost the family fortune in the Great Crash. The family, barely holding onto a living wage, was forced to give up the house in 1938 when Caldwell's pitifully destitute son Kent finally sold the megalith to a family of newly wealthy German-Americans who were moving to the quiet of Illinois from the bustle of New York. They were the Heinrichs.

Harald Heinrich (himself a product of a German father and American mother) had made some money in munitions before leaving Hitler's Germany. He found he didn't share the Nazis' philosophy and he didn't want them using his weapons, so Heinrich liquidated his busi­nesses for a tidy profit and brought his wife Marie and their year-old son Casper to New York City. There they joined Harald's brothers who had stayed with their mother's side of the family and lived in Manhattan for most of their lives. Wilhelm (Willie) Heinrich, Gunthar Heinrich and Joseph (Slim) Heinrich were not necessarily "rotten apples," but they were cer­tainly not the worldly, intelligent, and self-made man that their brother Harald was. From all accounts the brothers were jealous of Harald's success and his loving family. Yet, for some reason (familial loyalty perhaps), when Harald found the mansion in Harvey, Illinois, he invited his brothers to live with them.

It was not a happy household. Each of the brothers quickly degen­erated, their less-than-admirable traits worsening under the leisure of wealth. Obese Gunthar's propensity for eating himself into a lethargic stupor, Slim's scheming and gambling, and Willie's barely hinted at perversity (and _stench_; the eldest Heinrich brother suffered a lifetime of dental problems giving him a mouthful of rotten teeth) would all nearly drive Harald mad. Apart from the interior strife between Harald and his siblings (some sources say Harald had seriously discussed with Marie his intentions to kick his brothers out of the home), there was also a strange tension between the family and the whole town of Harvey. There may have been some residual re­sentment within the small community towards the outsiders who had usurped the position of the town's reigning "royalty," but it was complicated by a shame­ful trend of anti-German sentiment that swept the country in the years of the Second World War. There were threatening phone calls and messages left in the mail box. Even little Casper, who had just entered first grade, had to endure the taunts of other chil­dren. They called him a "Nazzy" and he had to ask his father what they meant. It was a challenge for a proud man like Harald and privately he must have wondered just how much more he could take.

Then, on New Year's Eve of the freshly inaugurated 1942, Harald and Marie were driving back home from a poorly attended party they had hosted at the Town Hall when their car skidded sideways across an icy bridge and crashed through the railing, sending them plunging into the Westcott River. It was ruled a tragic acci­dent, but there were those who wondered just what shape their brakes had been in before they left the party that night.

When Harald's will was read the week following the funeral, it was clearly stated that the entire Heinrich Trust would belong to their sole remaining heir and that, until Casper had come of age, his custodians - Willie, Gunthar, and Slim - could only use those funds to provide for themselves and the boy's welfare. That left Casper a very rich little boy left in the care of three very greedy men.

What followed from 1942 to 1944 is a blank. Residents who were

alive at the time can only remember the terrible sullen mood of the three shifty Heinrich brothers. Their drinking, their total neglect of their young charge. But Casper, when the locals recall Casper, it's with a strange melancholy. The boy was by all accounts a delight, a sweet soul who learned early to fend for himself. He made his own meals and got himself to school. And if he occasionally displayed mysterious bruises, well, it was a different time and no one asked any questions. Casper Heinrich was a laughing, golden-haired youth who, even now, can be seen smiling out of a worn photograph kept hanging in the mansion's living room - inexplicably left undisturbed by each subsequent owner. There's a sweet sadness that even the most detached observer feels when confronted with the facts as they were recorded in _The Harvey Register_, March 29, 1944:

_FOUR DIE IN GAS LEAK TRAGEDY AT HARVEY MANSION_

"_Police were called to the Harvey Mansion at 18 Mulgrave at eight o'clock this past evening to answer a complaint of an un­pleasant smell whereupon they made the discovery of the bodies of 7-year-old Casper Heinrich and his three uncles: Wilhelm, Gunthar and Joseph Heinrich. All four had died of asphyxiation caused by an apparently faulty valve in the mansion's gas pipe system. Fire department officials say it took only minutes for the entire building to fill with toxic fumes. The three grown men were found collapsed in the main hall while the boy was found in his bed. Authorities have deemed the deaths accidental. Services will be held next Tuesday morning at nine o'clock at the First Lutheran Church on Front Street."_

A blunt, sad tale that, at the time, seemed to answer all questions yet almost immediately the rumors began to fly. Here in Harvey, you'll hear whispers that the three uncles were attempting to murder their nephew to get at the family trust (as they supposedly hoped to, but failed, after rigging Harald and Marie's car) but proceeded to get into an argument on how to divvy up the cash, stupidly neglecting to get out of the house in time to escape the gas. You'll even hear stories of vengeful Harveys doing in, as one elderly local referred to them, "those lousy krauts." It's not really important to anyone anymore, though. All we get from this background information are four probable names for four unhappy souls. Make that three unhappy souls and one very lonely one.

I apologize for my lapse into unprofessional sentiment, but you find me here wrapping up a disappointing month-long investi­gation in a 148-year-old mansion with nothing for company but the snores of my associates, fine scientists all, and the rumbling in my stomach. I find myself mired in thoughts of this unacknowledged field I've chosen, elusive and insufficient funding, and the joke that is my personal life, but then I stop and think instead of a smiling 7-year-old boy who should have had a full life. I try, sitting across from Casper's photo­graph here in the wee hours, to picture what it was like for him; trapped in this huge, shadowy mausoleum, at the mercy of three wicked men, without anyone to play with. Without a friend. Maybe he's still here. Still waiting for

Just now there was a laugh, a distinct sound of a child's laughter. I hope the recorders are still r

As I'm writing this, there's a sudden chill and I'm watching a plate of cookies settle on the table in front of me, completely of its own volition.

Oreos! My favorite!


End file.
